A Tale of a Green-Eyed Wonder
by KotDE
Summary: On Halloween of 1994, Harry Potter has been nominated as a Triwizard Champion, discovers he is fated to become a martyr and is generally upset. How will the history of the Wizarding World twist if Harry had actually found "the power he knows not", namely, Aura? The world, meet Harry Potter, the one and only Huntsman on Earth! Pairings undecided.
1. 1: Veritas Revelio!

_**Author Note: Hello, dear readers, and welcome to the first chapter of my newest story. But first of all, I need to tell you several important things. One: my other story, Remnant – A World Where Dreams Come True, is on an indefinite hiatus bordering on abandonment. I am literally unable to write it any more. I had, what, fifteen drafts of the sixth chapter, and none of them were any good, so I switched to this story. Two: since I had been expelled from university, and my parents who pay for my education do not approve of me writing fanfiction and push me to get a job instead, updates will be erratic, infrequent, but of better quality than my previous work. After the 1st of September, I expect the updates to come out on a bi-weekly basis, but still do not hold me on it. Three: I already have seven chapters of this story written as of today, so at least there is that.**_

 _ **Now, enjoy the story!**_

 _Chapter 1: Veritas Revelio!_

 _Around the world there are a lot of legends, tales and stories alike, carried through generations. One such legend states that long, long ago a massive cataclysm struck the Earth, tearing apart the very fabric of time and space. Thus a new world, called Remnant by its survivors, was born._

 _Thousands of years passed on both worlds, and gradually, the cataclysm began to wither away from the minds of people, until both worlds forever forgot the other ever existed. The Remnant inhabitants manifested Aura from what little magic they had left, and used Dust – crystallised ley-lines of their former home world, to battle the abominations of nature they named Grimm._

 _However, even after millennia, on both worlds one could still observe the consequences of the ancient cataclysm. Rifts in time and space, leading to who knows where, random abnormalities here and there. Nothing substantial and certainly nothing that could one day change everything. Right?_

He was running through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, desperately trying to contain sobs that threatened to escape from his throat. Nobody was chasing him, or throwing spells into his unprotected back, no. In fact, the hallways were deserted as if the whole castle was devoid of people. The reason Harry Potter was outside of his common room at night, bawling like a toddler, was simple – he was feeling betrayed.

Why, you ask? Well, let's jump back in time a bit, and you would certainly understand the emotional turmoil our protagonist is currently in.

 _Several hours earlier, Headmaster's office._

Harry knocked on the heavy wooden door, and, receiving no response, swung the door open. As expected, there was nobody inside. Even Fawkes was suspiciously absent from his fireproof perch near the Headmaster's table. The trinkets on the shelves didn't puff, twirl or jingle. In fact, if one were to look any closer, they would notice that even dust floating in the air was still. Everything looked dull and grey, and the only indication time hadn't stopped in the room was a medium-sized ornate bowl on the table, inscribed with various glowing runes. Inside the bowl Harry could see some kind of a swirling silvery substance that glowed warmly, invitingly. Being somewhat curious, Harry came closer. The light intensified and with it, the inviting feeling began to blossom inside Harry's heart. He couldn't help but peer down into the bowl only to touch the pearly surface with the tip of his nose.

The feelings that suddenly assaulted all of Harry's senses were jumbled and fragmented, as if someone pushed them through a meat grinder at least twice. A veritable kaleidoscope of colours flowed all around him in a maelstrom, entrancing Harry. The boy was so amazed by the scene, that he certainly did not expect to suddenly hit the floor.

Looking around, he noticed that there was no more swirls of colour, quite the opposite. Everything was in shades of grey, like an old film, and that unsettled Harry quite a bit. But what caught his attention was the three figures he saw. One of them was easily recognizable – it was Dumbledore, who looked a tad bit less old and without his customary garish robes. The other two were facing the other direction, and he couldn't say for sure who they were, but something in their postures and appearance tugged at his heartstrings. Luckily for him, he did not have to dwell much on this mystery, as the figures within the room began to speak.

"Albus," greeted the man. "You were very vague in your reason to call us at such time of the day, I must say. Surely you understand?"

"Yes, James, I do."

Harry stood, rooted in place, not even breathing. He didn't dare hope that the Headmaster said what he did, but…

"Then enlighten us, please. Me and Lily were… busy a bit, when you called, and I'd like you to be brief."

"James Charlus Potter!" shouted the woman, noticeably blushing. "One more word and you will be occupying the couch for the next year!"

"Yes, Lily dear," James visibly cringed. "Whatever you say."

Harry's heart skipped several beats. These were his parents! Living, breathing parents!

"Mum! Dad! I'm here!"

But none of them ever responded. In fact, even Dumbledore did not even acknowledge that someone else was in the room, besides Lily and James. Harry tried waving his hands in front of his parents' faces, but to no avail. Downtrodden and ready to burst into tears, he lowered his head, only to see…

Himself. Or, himself, had he been a small toddler. His mother was gingerly embracing the sleeping child, occasionally rocking him in her arms and glancing down at him. Even as dense as Harry was, he immediately understood he was seeing the past. Very-very distant past. Sweeping away a lone tear, he listened to the conversation.

"Lily, James, it has come to my attention that it is no longer safe for you to live out in the open as you do. You see, there was a legitimate prophecy concerning your son, and…"

James abruptly rose from his seat, his face deathly pale. "Oh no. Not Harry, no." He began pacing the room, nervously wringing his hands. Lily looked at him like he has lost his mind, "James, why are you so distressed about it? Isn't Divination the murkiest and most unclear subject there is?"

"Yes, Lily, you are partially right," said Dumbledore, gravely looking at her from above his glasses. "But when made by a legitimate Seer in a trance, they become something that cannot be changed. Absolutely. The outcome, however, depends on the subjects' own actions. This is why every single prophecy that ever existed had a dual interpretation, and this prophecy is not an exception."

Visibly composing himself, he began speaking in a deep, almost commanding voice, and Harry had a fleeting thought the Headmaster was trying to impress his very words upon the fabric of reality.

" _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…  
Born to those who had thrice defied him,  
Born as the seventh month dies…  
And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal,  
For he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…  
And either must die at the hand of the other,  
For neither can live while the other survives…"_

Then the memory abruptly swirled into a vortex again, pulling Harry along. Tumbling to a stop, he found himself again in the same office, only now his parents weren't there, and he-toddler was currently examined by Dumbledore. While observing the room, he glanced at one of the shelves where Headmaster usually kept his Daily Prophet issues, only to freeze in shock.

The latest issue was dated 30th of October 1981, which meant that his parents were already killed by Voldemort, and this was the night when he was placed in his relatives' "tender care". And sure thing, he spied an inflamed lightning bolt scar on "his" forehead, confirming his suspicions.

"Oh my… What have you done, Tom?" lamented Dumbledore, attracting Harry's attention. "Such a foolish move on your part…"

Dumbledore came to one of the shelves, pulling out an old black tome with blood red runic inscriptions on the cover. Tenderly placing the book on a reading podium, he turned the pages, eventually finding the passage he needed. Harry couldn't help his budding curiosity, and glanced inside over Dumbledore's shoulder. What he found inside shocked him to the very core.

"Horcruxes, or dark soul shards, to this very day remain one of the vilest, unforgivable abominations ever created by man. Created in cold blood, augmented by a murder, they grant a form of immortality to the wizard, for they anchor the broken soul to the mortal plane, never releasing its creator from his half-life into the cold embrace of death. After separation from the main soul, said shard shall be infused into an object of its creator's choosing, granting the object almost absolute immunity against mundane and magical damage alike. The only way to destroy a horcrux is to kill the object, whether it is living or non-living. However, the aforementioned immunity severely limits the possibilities, the only known ways being the Fiendfyre spell, Basilisk venom or the Killing Curse, as it affects everything that has a soul. If placed into a living being, there is no feasible way to extract the shard safely without endangering or killing the host outright."

Dumbledore closed the book and sighed deeply, closing his eyes in resignation. "It seems there is truly no other way. _And either must die at the hand of the other; For neither can live while the other survives._ " He then lowered his eyes, meeting toddler Harry's deep green orbs. "I am sorry for what you are to endure, my boy. I hope you will be able to forgive this old man when he goes onto his next great adventure. Least I can do for you, Harry, is to let you enjoy your childhood in peace."

The Headmaster put the book back into its proper place, waved his wand over Harry and went out of the door, leaving a frozen ghostly observer stare in abject shock and terror at what had transpired here today.

"I… am a host for Voldemort's soul? And for him to die, I should die first?"

An abrupt jerk tore him out of his musings, and for the first time in years, Harry felt truly alone.


	2. 2: Power He Knows Not

_Chapter 2: Power He Knows Not_

Somehow, Harry's legs by moving on autopilot led him to the seventh floor, where he stopped just near a strange painting depicting a man trying to teach trolls how to dance. Had Harry been in a slightly more sober state of mind, he would have giggled at the wizard's sheer stupidity, and, maybe, admire his stubbornness a tiny bit. But, as it was, he didn't even notice the painting, instead choosing to pace in front of the wall directly opposite, al the while ranting and raving at all the unfairness.

"How could he? He knew that I would have to die all along and still pretended that he cares! Well, if he did, he wouldn't have given me to Dursleys! If he thinks I will simply stand by and wait for my death, he has another thing coming! I need to become stronger, stronger than Dumbledore and Voldemort, so that my life would never be dictated by some decrepit old farts!"

And, as he passionately ranted and shouted obscenities at the wall, it suddenly rippled, silencing him and making Harry open his mouth in wonder. Out from a blank wall, foot by foot, a heavy ornate wooden door appeared. It was so high and wide, that to Harry it looked like it could swallow several mountain trolls whole and still have some space left. One might think that after four years of studying at one of the most prestigious magical schools, he would have grown used to these feats, but the world around him always found some way to astound and amaze him in a way he never thought possible. Thus, then and there Harry made a promise to himself that he would live only to see everything wonderful the magical world had to offer him.

Pushing the door, he cautiously entered into the circular chamber that lied behind the door. Gazing at the decorations around in wonder, he didn't notice how the door behind him closed with an inaudible thump, dissolving back into the wall it came from.

The chamber was wide and dimly lit, enough to read or practice some spells, but not too bright. He found he liked that kind of lighting. On the sides he could see rows upon rows of semicircular shelves that held literally hundreds of books. There were so many, but he did not recognize any of the titles. Seriously, "A Guide to Aura and Dust", "Dust for Dummies", "The History of Vale and Beacon"? What were those?

Harry cracked open the first book, "A Guide to Aura and Dust". He wasn't disappointed. On the first page he saw a detailed picture of a person with some kind of a bubble drawn around him. The man was holding a sword that looked… outlandish, in Harry's perspective. It was beautiful, sure, but it was so much different from the Sword of Gryffindor, that Harry couldn't help but wonder just what caused this sword to bend so much. Later on, he found out it was called a "katana", and that it actually was a very formidable weapon despite its deceptive appearance.

He continued on reading, and several pages later he stumbled onto a description of Aura that the author spoke so much about.

" _The Aura is a manifestation of one's very soul. It has been our ultimate defence in the unending battle of humans and Faunus alike against the Creatures of Grimm that prowl through the unexplored lands of Remnant. Aura of a person usually acts as a barrier between the body and anything intent on harming its wielder, though the exact mechanism of this is still unknown. Many claim that our Auras, and thus souls, are omniscient and intelligent, allowing them to discern the intent and tell the difference between a Deathstalker's stinger and a nurse's needle. On the other hand, there is Semblance – a special ability directly related to its wielder. There are several cases of similar or even identical Semblances, such as the famous Schnee Semblance – creation of glyphs that are able to manipulate reality. It is generally accepted that Semblances are based on the person's qualities, such as bravery, intelligence or cunning, as well as his or her hobbies, interests etc._

 _There are three known ways to manifest one's Aura. The most modern and safest method is for another wielder of Aura to "unlock it" for you. The process usually involves a short chant and a pulse of the donor's Aura that literally washes away the natural restraints that the soul has._

 _If, for any reason, there is no person willing or available, you can force your soul through the restraints on your own, but there is a slight chance of overexerting yourself and falling into a coma that can last for days if not weeks. However, this method also slightly enhances the natural Aura pool the person has due to the sheer power necessary to break through the restraints._

 _The last and possibly the most dangerous method involves putting yourself into mortal peril. Sometimes, on the brink of death, a person can "awaken", literally exploding his or her Aura outwards and healing the injuries that were inflicted previously. It is important to note that this method can fail on the first or even on the second try, but the Aura manifested this way is known to be the strongest and more dense compared to other two methods._

 _Note: There are no known records of people failing to awaken their Aura on the third or fourth try simply because any that dared to try this method thrice did not survive the experience. We, the authors of this manual, strongly discourage you from attempting the third method, and even then it should be done under heavy medical supervision in case anything goes wrong._

Harry huffed, smiling to himself. He had already been in life-or-death situations thrice, and it seemed fate wasn't intent on making his life easier. Case in point, he was chosen today as a fourth champion in a Triwizard Tournament, when he was still underage and inexperienced. But that still wasn't enough to stop him, and he was still alive.

He continued to read, soaking up all the information he could on Aura: from its usage in combat to how every person had their own colour of Aura, corresponding with their own character and several other factors. He also read up on Dust, even though he had absolutely no idea how or where to find some. He certainly never heard of it in all of the time he lived in the Wizarding World, and that had put a damper on his enthusiasm.

Many hours later, when he was reasonably certain it was already late in the morning outside, he put the book away, rubbing his red eyes and yawning fiercely. Despite his overwhelming urge to just fall down into his bed and sleep until the end of the world, Harry thought it was worth it – he was certain he would have never found such valuable information in the library, Restricted Section or not.

He has been returning to the Room many times in the following week, literally absorbing every single bit of theory about Aura and Dust he could find, and it was a lot. In fact, he hadn't read as much books as he did over the week than in his whole life! It was surreal, and he wouldn't have coped with the strain, had he any less resolve to stay alive and fight for his life. The realisation of his own weakness and inability to stand up to real threats, like Voldemort, gave him his second, third and fourth breaths.

Of course, his new disposition didn't do any favours with his friends, especially Ron, who was all too happy to alienate Harry from his company, making sure to insult him any time they met. Hermione, on the other hand, was looking very worried for Harry's well-being, always trying to offer her advice or help him in any way. Not to say he did not appreciate it, but he felt it was his own burden to carry, without the need to involve his friends in it. And, besides, he wasn't sure if he could trust Hermione with the knowledge of Aura – she, being herself, could either declare it Dark magic (an understandable point of view, as it involved messing with your own soul) or unconsciously try to hoard all the knowledge to herself, leaving Harry with mere scraps of what he could obtain otherwise.

When the week finally was over, Harry headed to the Room after curfew to finally begin his attempts to unlock his Aura. As the book stated, he had nobody else to unlock it for him, so down went the first way. And while the second route, i.e. forcing his soul out over the weeks, was reasonably safer than putting himself into mortal peril, he had no luxury of time – the First Task was to begin on the 24th, literally less than three weeks away, and he still had no clue on what would it entail. His infrequent library visits netted him only that the task always involved a dangerous magical beast, ranging from Manticores to Chimaeras and Nundus. Both this fact and the death tolls of the previous tournaments only solidified the fact that he needed to become stronger.

But, before he went to the Room, he first did a small detour, grabbing his broom and trusty cloak, going down into the Chamber of Secrets. Sliding down the greasy pipe full of muck and Merlin knew what else was just as unpleasant as it was the first time, if not even more. Accompanied by the constant crunching of rodent bones underneath his boots, he headed for the large metal door with the snakes, pushing his way past the landslide. Giving them the standard password, he proceeded past into the dark Chamber, lighting the torches as he went past.

Everything was the same as he remembered it to be – the basilisk was lying down on the chamber stone floor, gazing at him with its empty black eye sockets, almost as if the ancient creature was berating or mocking him even in death. There was no book, and the basilisk was missing one of its front fangs, leaving a hollow space where it used to be. Using an underpowered Diffindo, Harry cut open the snake's gum opposite the missing fang, revealing the base of another, pristine snake tooth. Harry was reasonably sure this one was still full of venom, so he gently levitated it, rocking the white curved fang in its socket, rotating and twisting it until, with an audible wet sound, it separated from the jaw and hung there in the air, deceptively harmless and unassuming. Not trusting the venom inside to not dissolve his clothes or anything he may have used to wrap the damned thing in, he continued to levitate the tooth in front of himself, while flying out of the pipe. He did not really want to be caught by a prefect or a professor wandering the halls at night with a basilisk fang flying in front of himself, so he used the cloak to hide from prying eyes, all the while zooming through the halls as fast as he could.

He reached the Room in no time at all, and wasn't even noticed by a pair of Ravenclaw prefects that patrolled one of the corridors leading to the seventh floor. He did create quite a gust of wind when flying past, however, causing the girl's robes to fly upwards and eliciting an undignified shriek from her. Harry was reasonably sure he had heard her slap the boy across the face, but he wouldn't bet his money on that.

The Room greeted him with the same layout he has gotten used to in his frequent visits here – the same round room with bookshelves, lanterns and even a small couch where he napped from time to time if he didn't really want to return to his common room. But this time, as if sensing his intentions, in the very centre there was a comfortable bed he could lie down on while unlocking his Aura for the first time. The fang was slowly floating beside the bed, and this time Harry did not cast the Levitation charm on it. Chalking it up to the Room's many quirks, he disrobed down to his undergarments and got into the bed, fidgeting slightly due to the cold and a bit of fear. However, there was no uncertainty – he was absolutely determined to unlock his Aura and live far longer than Dumbledore had intended him to.

As soon as he was all ready, he waved his wand and the tooth moved to hang directly over Harry's heart, ready to fall down and plunge into his unprotected ribcage. He inhaled deeply, his green eyes shining with that inner fire one can only find in the souls of the people who were so determined even Fate had no reign over them.

"Finite Incantatem!"

And the deadly fang fell down, greedily spearing Harry's chest all the way to his heart.

Then… It was all agony.


	3. 3: For It Is In Passing

_Chapter 3: For It Is In Passing That We Achieve Immortality…_

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, etcetera, etcetera, was currently sitting in his office, contemplating the events that surrounded young mister Potter. Even thirteen years later, it still was painful for Albus to look at Harry, for it was him that condemned the boy to his miserable fate. On the fateful night of Halloween back in 1981, he learned that his old student and latest Dark Lord, Tom Riddle aka Lord Voldemort, has created Horcruxes in his relentless pursuit of immortality. And that the only survivor, Harry Potter, was an unwitting phylactery for his soul shard.

But even after perusing dozens of tomes so Dark that their mere presence caused him to gag in revulsion, he could not find any feasible way to safely extract the shard from the boy without brutally murdering him in the process. And thus Albus could only resign to the inevitable – the prophecy ensured this way that Harry would not be killed by anyone else than Voldemort himself, all the while keeping his ultimate nemesis alive the whole time.

Truth be told, Albus himself understood Tom's aspirations to become immortal more than anyone else did. He was old and nearing his next great adventure, but sometimes he felt that he had not yet accomplished everything he could in this one. In his youth, when he still was Gellert's friend, he accidentally stumbled upon an old book that described something the author called Aura. But it wasn't what captured his attention, but the wise words that the book said were used to unlock the power of Aura. Even to this day, he still cherished these words and, in times of doubt, he repeated them to himself like a prayer.

" _For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all. Infinite in distance and unbound by death, I release your soul, and by my shoulder, protect thee."_

Ever since then, he interpreted death as simply another form of immortality he so strived to achieve yet never could. Albus was convinced that the soul, as the author stated, was "infinite in distance and unbound by death", making his theory all the more solid. Besides, wasn't the existence of ghosts yet another confirmation? They were nigh immortal, and even the spells used to banish them only destroyed their ectoplasm, not the soul itself. Eventually, the ghost would reform its body and continue on as if nothing ever happened.

He never understood, however, the part about releasing the soul. It sounded eerily like killing, which Albus never condoned, but something deep down told him he did not have the vital pieces of the puzzle, thus twisting his perception of the phrase.

The man was torn from his musings, however, when one of his sparkly instruments began to shrilly whistle and, seconds later, fell silent and crumbled to dust. To Albus' credit, it took him only two seconds to realise that this was the charm that monitored Harry's well-being, and it crumbling could mean only one thing – the boy was either dying or already dead. And even the tracking charm applied to yet another instrument could not pinpoint his location, the only thing it displayed being "Hogwarts, location undisclosed".

Albus could not remember the last time he had run to the Gryffindor Tower so fast, hoping against hope that Harry was sleeping peacefully in his dorm and that his charms simply malfunctioned. Of course, as it should have been expected, the boy was absent from his bed, and, to add insult to injury, Harry had the Invisibility Cloak, making him nigh untraceable. At least, until the Headmaster could put the new tracking charm on him.

Dumbledore returned to his office and sat back into his chair, closing his eyes and praying that whatever ordeal Harry had found himself in, he would live. For the help is unable to come this time.

 _Meanwhile, in the Room of Requirement._

A piercing half-wail, half-shriek of pure, unadulterated agony reverberated in the stone chamber within the Room. It was so strong that, had any living being with ears present within, they would have lost their ability to hear forever. One could hear the vocal cords of the screaming boy literally tear themselves out of his throat.

All around him, the room looked like it was engulfed in a natural disaster on par with the most threatening hurricanes ever known. The space around the bed appeared distorted and twisted in a baffling manner, but, astonishingly, the bed and its occupant appeared to be completely undisturbed, save for the screams and occasional discharges of what looked like bright green lightning emanating from Harry's body. But eventually, the hurricane dissipated, as did the green lightning, revealing what was in the very centre.

The lone figure of a young boy was lying on the bed still and silent, not even a breath or heartbeat disrupting the absolute silence. Harry James Potter, age 14, died from the basilisk poison dissolving most of his vital organs. He was so thoroughly dead that even a skilled necromancer would have had a hard time making a functional undead out of his body. And yet… his soul still lived, clinging to life with all of its determination. It was so persistent and powerful, in fact, that it even devoured the lone shard inhabiting Harry's scar, leaving not even a trace of its existence behind, manifesting as a semi-transparent spectre just above Harry's unseeing gaze. And such a strength could not stay unrewarded by the higher powers of the world.

A disembodied chorus of voices spoke from all around Harry, gradually rising in volume.

" _For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all. Infinite in distance and unbound by death, I release your soul, and by my shoulder, protect thee."_

And from the darkness, came the light.

Blinding, green light.

Then Harry awakened.

It is certainly an indescribable feeling, Harry silently mused to himself, lying on the soft covers. He could not compare it to anything else he had ever experienced in his life. The closest approximation would have been to one day wake up and find out that you were actually blind your whole life. He felt like he could run dozens of laps around the Black Lake and not break a sweat or take on a mountain troll barehanded.

… Alright, the last one might have been a bit over the top, but nevertheless. Looking at his body, Harry noticed the soft green glow his body seemed to emit unconsciously, and how the colour was eerily similar to that of his own eyes. He remembered that the colour depended on the person and tended to be the one that he or she liked the most, but he certainly didn't remember of the author mentioning the glow to persist for half an hour. Normally, the glow dissipated several seconds after the Aura was unlocked, and only appeared when it was actively used. There were no reasons for it to stay active, right?

But before he could contemplate on that mystery any further, his stomach growled demandingly, eliciting a fiery blush from Harry. He asked the room for some light snacks and proceeded to devour them voraciously, reminding himself of Ron.

After he finally finished eating, he cast a Tempus, only to find out that his wand was responding sluggishly and, dare he say, half-heartedly. It was a novel sensation, and a very unwelcome one, since it meant that he needed a replacement before the day of the First Task, or he would be in some serious trouble. Sure, he now had Aura, but his experience in using it was comparable to a toddler learning to walk. To even have a fighting chance in the tournament he would need time to master his use of Aura both defensively and offensively, as well as learn stronger and more efficient spells.

So, channelling his inner Hermione, he asked the room for a spare piece of parchment and a quill in order to write a list of things he'd need to do before the Task.

First and foremost on his list was to evaluate his newfound Aura as was described in his books: the amount of time one was able to passively hold it before running out, the average damage caused by a standard 9-mm bullet (he replaced that one with a stinging hex as bullets weren't exactly common in Hogwarts), the percentage added to user's physical strength, etcetera. He did not wish to be caught with his figurative pants down, especially when the available information on the limits of Aura was quite scarce compared to the vast ocean of knowledge wizards amassed on magic over centuries.

Second, but no less urgent, was to get himself a new wand. Harry was reasonably sure that Dumbledore, hearing of his predicament, would allow him to come to Ollivander's for a replacement, as well as to get some money from his vault in order to purchase some spellbooks from higher grades.

Third point was as simple as it gets and stemmed from the second – learn spells. Battling a Class XXXX or even XXXXX creature that were so common to appear in previous Tournaments required a firepower that simply wasn't taught to fourth years. These kinds of creatures weren't called wizard-killers for nothing, after all, and Harry refused to become yet another gruesome casualty. He performed a corporeal Patronus at thirteen, for Merlin's sake, it's not like every Hogwarts graduate could do it at seventeen! He could handle some heavier spells.

The rest Harry had left until after the Task as he had enough stuff to do in the two weeks that remained. Mentally pushing the projection of his own soul outwards, he achieved a bright pulsing halo that outlined his skinny body. It was not flame-like, as the book stated most Auras tended to be. Instead it faintly crackled with energy, reminding Harry of an occasional thunderstorm that graced Privet Drive once in a while, only contained and far more dangerous. The comparison brought a smile to Harry's face, as he liked to listen to the thunder booming up in the sky when he was locked in his cupboard.

Distracting himself from these happy thoughts, he concentrated on the task. Asking the Room for a training dummy, he set it to medium-power, stinging hexes only, following the instruction on the back of said dummy. Returning to his previous position, he cast a low-powered stunner at it, forcing it to activate. With a creak of its wooden appendages, the dummy began its relentless onslaught, showering Harry's Aura with spells while he counted how much of them were stopped by the barrier. After ten minutes had passed without any visible strain or crack in the barrier, he sent another stunner, deactivating the wooden soldier. Now, feeling quite more confident in his abilities, he set it to maximum power, changing the preset spell to a stunner as well. Repeating the activation sequence, he crouched a bit, bracing himself for the barrage that was sure to come his way.

And it did not disappoint. To Harry's amazement, a second wand appeared in the dummy's left hand, effectively doubling the speed of its casting. And oh boy, did the fun then begin.

If Harry hadn't had the mind to reinforce his Aura barrier a bit, he would've been blasted off his feet from the sheer power emanating from the stunners splashing themselves harmlessly against the translucent sheen of Aura hanging in mid-air. But even then, the barrier held admirably, beginning to develop hairline cracks only after a minute of the exercise, and failing completely in exactly eight minutes and forty seconds, prompting Harry to hit the deck lest he be struck by what looked like nine full-power stunners.

As the barrier dissolved, so did the dummy deactivate, and the wands disappeared from its grasp. For the next test Harry had the room supply more unarmed dummies, while he was meditating to refill his depleted Aura stores. At the same time he was mentally analysing the previous test. It seemed like he could completely cover himself with Aura, not worrying about spells slipping past his defences and incapacitating him. And it held for quite some time even under such heavy fire, which meant he didn't need to concern himself with it failing in the middle of a battle.

The rest of the tests proved that physical damage was not negated as spells did, only blunted to the point that near-fatal strikes were much more mild and non-threatening, and superficial damage like cuts and bruises didn't even pass through. However, blocking spells proved to be a tiring ordeal, as they drained his Aura pool like leeches, and the more complex the spell was, the more power it took to block it. He wasn't brave enough to test if Aura could dissipate an Unforgivable, like Crucio, but some of the spells he found in the old seventh-year books supplied by the room were far more taxing than the stunners he used for the first test, further cementing in his mind that the best defence in a spell fight was simply not to be there.

Exiting the Room and sealing it behind him, he cast Tempus again, wincing at the amount of force it took to push his magic through the wand. The clock showed half past two in the afternoon, so he went to the Headmaster's office in order to get to the Diagon Alley.

While he was walking there, leaving his legs to do so on autopilot, Harry thought about what he would say to Dumbledore. How would he react? To be honest, he still harboured some bitterness and resentment for the apparent disregard the Headmaster had for his life. But he could also somewhat understand Dumbledore's point and where he was coming from, seeing as he now knew the full contents of the prophecy and the fact he was a living receptacle for a shard of the Dark Lord's soul. There were so many different things that could go wrong and doom the whole country, and Headmaster was trying to keep the whole thing from falling down on their heads. It reminded Harry eerily of a game he used to play at the Dursleys, where you need to dismantle a tower made of wooden bricks piece by piece without the whole tower crashing. Harry himself was quite adept at it, since if the tower falls, it makes a lot of noise. And a lot of noise in the Dursley household meant a harsh beating.

But returning to the topic, Harry had to give the man credit, he was masterfully trying to delay the inevitable coming of Voldemort while also keeping Harry as safe as it was possible. It wasn't the Headmaster's fault the prophecy just seemed to gravitate them to each other.

While musing, he didn't even notice he had arrived to the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office until he literally smacked his face right into it. Idly noting that the pain from such a collision was almost non-existent thanks to his Aura, he began to name every possible confectionery that came to mind. After exhausting his admittedly short list of magical sweets, he moved on to the mundane ones. And, oh joy, he got it right! Muttering "Mars Bars" to the granite guardian and making it slide open, he proceeded to walk on the rotating staircase. Tapping his wand twice on the door and receiving a nearly inaudible "Come in" in return, he twisted the handle and strode in the office.

Everything was almost identical to the last time he was in here, save for the missing memory bowl and a burnt mark on one of the shelves. Even Fawkes was still suspiciously absent from his perch.

When the Headmaster saw who has just came in, he adopted an expression Harry had never seen on his face ever before. It was something of a mix between utter joy, comical disbelief and some other feeling Harry had no hope in recognising. It brought a small smile onto Harry's face as well, despite the fact that this same person plotted his demise at the hands of Voldemort.

"Harry! How overjoyed I am to see you! And, to think of it, this is the first time you had arrived safe and unscathed from your adventures!" said Dumbledore, twinkling his eyes at Harry in a grandfatherly manner. "I dare say that Poppy dearly misses your yearly presence in her humble abode."

Harry snorted in an undignified manner, amused by the Headmaster's antics. "Yes, I think so too, Professor Dumbledore. Last time I was there, Madam Pomfrey threatened to put a plaque above one of the hospital beds to reserve it for me."

"Oh, truly joyful," the man responded, smiling. "However, I sense this isn't a social visit, am I right?"

"Erm, yes. I have just found out that my old wand became… temperamental, shall I say. I'm in dire need of a replacement, and I need to get to the Diagon Alley."

The smile on Dumbledore's face was instantly replaced by a concerned frown.

"Did it? Could you please cast a Lumos for me, Harry?"

He did so readily, waving his wand and making the ball of light on the tip appear with some force. The only indication that the Headmaster noticed something was a minute widening of his eyes, which then narrowed considerably.

"Well, this is certainly a case of a mismatched wand. Though, to be frank, these occurrences, although not as rare, do not usually happen at such a young age."

"But what is the reason for this, Professor?"

"Well, usually it happens because the wizard or witch in question had a, what is it called, midlife crisis? Yes, yes. They are forced to rethink who they are and what priorities they had in their life, leading to their former wands not matching them as perfectly as they did before. It isn't a complete turnaround, so the wands still work, but not as readily and strongly as before. But it begs the question then, just what happened to you, Harry?"

He simply stood there, gazing in the blue orbs of the Headmaster. Seeing nothing but genuine concern for his well-being, Harry slackened his posture a bit and sat in a chair Dumbledore conjured for him beforehand.

"Have you ever heard about a phenomenon called Aura, Professor?"

Dumbledore widened his eyes at what Harry had suddenly said. How did he find out about a branch of magic so esoteric and mysterious that even he hadn't fully understood? The books that mention Aura are one of the most rare, and none to this day had ever manifested it, as the authors seemed to imply. Rumour has it, that Merlin himself was pursuing the knowledge on Aura, and hadn't succeeded. So now, when he was sitting in the same office as the youth who seemingly had the knowledge, Dumbledore couldn't help but be intrigued and excited. Deciding to be honest with Harry on that, he began to speak.

"I… am aware of its existence, but nothing else. It is something that is shrouded in mystery and rumours, with a handful of books mentioning Aura in passing. But none to this day were able to uncover the secrets to manifesting it, I am afraid."

"Then what if I say that I have these secrets? And that I had manifested it myself?"

That phrase was so unexpected and out of the blue that Dumbledore choked on his own breath. Harry, being the most intriguing child, has managed to surprise the Headmaster so many times he had even lost count. And this was perhaps the most surprising.

"Truly? Then you have surpassed Merlin himself who was rumoured to pursue the knowledge about Aura yet failed spectacularly."

Now it was the turn for Harry to choke. Dumbledore grinned, it was so easy.

"Care to share, Harry? I can swear an Unbreakable Vow, if you so desire. From what I have managed to piece together about Aura, it seemed to be a truly powerful ability, am I right?"

"What is an Unbreakable Vow, Professor? I have never heard about it before." said Harry with a slightly puzzled expression.

Dumbledore then briefly explained the procedure and the repercussions of attempting to break the Vow, then they performed it with Dumbledore's wand levitating in the air.

"Well, Professor, as I found out, the Aura is literally the physical manifestation of a person's soul." Harry began explaining, while Dumbledore was layering the strongest privacy charms over the room. "There are three ways to unlock one's Aura. The first one, and consequently the safest, requires for another wielder to unlock it for you while chanting. The chant is long and philosophical, but I think I can recite it pretty easily." He coughed a little and began, _"For it is in passing that we achieve immortality…"_

Dumbledore literally froze at these words. They were the ones he had read in that book so many years ago! And, as if in a trance, he joined Harry in his recitation. _"…Infinite in distance and unbound by death, I release your soul, and by my shoulder, protect thee."_

They stared at each other, surprised that the other knew the words. Then Harry broke the silent stalemate and continued his explanation.

"The second one, while a bit more dangerous, is more rewarding in terms of Aura pool and involves a person to push his soul against the 'restraints', which can take a lot of time and can be done alone. The third one is…" Harry fell silent for a moment, "is far more rewarding but at the same time far more deadly."

At the word "deadly" Dumbledore finally understood what happened with Harry. "Did it involve you dying, by any chance?"

Harry visibly flinched, as if slapped across the face. "Probably? The book said that it was necessary to put oneself into mortal peril for this to work, so…"

"And you threw yourself head first into danger, like a true Gryffindor," Dumbledore softly chastised. "Commendable, but ultimately unnecessary."

Now it was the turn for Harry to become angry.

"Unnecessary? Professor, I had been illegally put into a tournament that routinely had its participants disembowelled, chewed on, burnt to a crisp, exploded by a spell, you name it! And I am not even of age yet! I have to face Voldemort at one point of my ultimately short life whether I want to or not because of a bloody prophecy so don't you dare say it was unnecessary!"

"Harry," tentatively began Dumbledore, "what do you mean by that?"

"By what? The fact that I have a maniac prophesied to come after me and try to kill me, or the fact that I must die for him to die as well?"

Dumbledore visibly sagged in his chair, appearing far older than he usually did.

"I had thought that you were too young to be burdened by this knowledge. It seems I have made a grave mistake in my judgement."

"Not only in your judgement, Professor, but also in your treatment of me. You seem to be under the impression that I am still a child wanting to play quidditch with my classmates. And, to be honest, I was. Until the moment I understood that I needed as much power as possible to survive and eventually defeat Voldemort, for he will not stop in his pursuit."

"I…" Dumbledore exhaled a puff of air in defeat. "You are right, Harry. I was so reliant on the prophecy protecting and guiding you, and yet here you are, ready to take your fate in your own hands."

Then Harry remembered, just why did he come to the Headmaster's office. "Um, Professor? It's all good and all, but I really need to have my wand replaced."

"Oh, forgive this old man, my boy. Yes, you have my permission to go, but before that, can I examine your scar?"

"Yes, of course, Professor," Harry nodded seriously. "I wonder if the Horcrux is still inside as well."

Dumbledore choked again, only to notice a slight mischievous smirk on Harry's face. Realising he has been played like a fiddle, the Headmaster playfully scowled.

"So many surprises for one day cannot be healthy for this old body, Harry. Have you no shame?"

"I do, but you, Professor, are far too resilient to have a heart attack from one small revelation, aren't you?"

"I sure am," he chuckled heartily. Waving his wand over Harry's head in complex three-dimensional patterns, he soon proclaimed Harry to be clean of the parasitic leech of a Dark Lord. Spirits thoroughly lifted, Harry grabbed some Floo powder, and, with a shout of "Diagon Alley", disappeared in a whirlwind of emerald flames.


End file.
